Reputation for Malice
by antiwicked
Summary: Elphaba was dead. After failing at everything, she was finally able to resolve her guilt and leave the cruel world that she despised. But what if she had the chance to do it all over again and perhaps save the one that she loves along the way? Eventual Fiyeraba. Bookverse.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! This is Meghan here! This is just a one-shot that I typed up but I might make it into a multi-chapter if you all like it! Enjoy and review! c:**

"_And of the Witch? In the life of a Witch, there is no "after", in the "ever after" of a Witch there is no "happily"; in the story of a Witch, there is no afterword. Of that part that is beyond the life story, beyond the story of the life, there is- alas, or perhaps, thank mercy,-no telling. She was dead, dead, and gone, and all that was left of her was the carapace of her reputation for malice."_

_Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West_

* * *

All she could feel was the searing pain as the deadly water doused her skin. The agony was over quickly and the Witch found herself in a euphoria-like state. She seemed to be levitating, although the space below her seemed to go down for miles. All of a sudden, the Witch was plummeting at full-speed towards the ground and she didn't dare to close her eyes. She was dead, so she figured that there was nothing in her old life or the Afterlife that could hurt her now. Never in her life had the Witch felt so wrong. Her back hit the earth with a sickening crunch and she rolled over, not entirely pleased at what met her eyes. She was in the middle of a grassy field and she could see a humble cottage a few yards away.

"Elphaba, child, don't wander off!" _Elphaba. _It seemed like the name of someone so long ago. She was no longer Elphaba, or Fae for that matter, but simply the Witch; The Wicked Witch of the West, if you want the full glory of it. There seemed to be nothing more of her now, only a shell of what she once was and her extensive reputation for evil.

Melena's voice rang through the field, echoing through the leaves on the Quoxwood trees. The Witch turned to see her mother, with her hands on her hips, watching as the Quadling picked up her younger self. Elphaba's back stiffened, not accustomed to the feeling of being held, or even touched. Turtle Heart, that was his name. The Witch faintly recalled sitting at the kitchen table and peering around the corner to see her mother sneak off with the man, her tiny hand held in his large one. It was funny, the Witch now realized. It had seemed so odd to see her mother slither into a bed that held a man that was not her father. Was this how Fiyero's children must have felt? She wasn't sure if Sarima had her guesses about the affair or if she would even dare to tell her offspring, but she was sure that they would have felt the same way if they knew that their father had slept with a foreign woman who was not their mother.

The Witch focused in confusion as Melena and Turtle Heart became blurry as they were climbing into bed and little Elphaba began to cry and Frex rushed in from outside to comfort her. Colors whirled around her as she was whipped back and forth in an angry tornado. Just when the Witch felt as if her head was about to be blown away with the wind, the storm died down and she found herself in Quadling Country, watching as a ten-year-old Elphaba was tramping through the mud, trying her best not to get water into her stockings. Then, the scene changed and the two were sitting on low stools as Frex was doing his usual sermon. He pointed at Elphaba and said,

"Behold the gift of a demon!" It hurt Elphaba to hear her own father say such things about her, but he had convinced her that it was all an act, a show. "If the Unnamed God could love such a horrendous creature, He could certainly love you too!" At this time, Elphaba caught her cue and began to sing an old hymn (the only music that Father approved of). The Quadlings seemed fascinated by Elphaba and they unconsciously leaned forward, not to listen to her soft voice, but to take a closer look at her harlequin green skin. She didn't mind for it happened all the time. Everywhere she went; everyone stared and whispered, their faces twisted in horror. The whispers were all the same: freak, vegetable, grass. Elphaba didn't know what hurt more, the names or the fact that the skin would never go away. She could sit for as long as she wanted, scrub as hard as she could, but the ugly green skin would never wash off or fade away.

The Witch watched in sadness (an emotion that she hadn't felt in quite some time) as her younger self was objectified and harassed. If only they could see that she had hated her skin as much as they did. "I don't wish to see anymore! I just want to move into the Afterlife where I can finally take my rest!" She screamed to no one in particular. The woman knew that none of the Quadlings could hear her, nor could the Thropps, but she wanted to voice her pleas. As if someone had actually heard her, the whirlwind started up again and she was whisked away. All throughout her travels, the Witch swore that she could hear the wind echo one simple phrase: There isn't any rest for the wicked.

When the tornado finally subsided, the Witch found herself in a place she knew well. The storm had dropped her right into her dorm room in Crage Hall at Shiz University. She watched as Galinda –well, Glinda at that point- sat on her bed, fully engrossed in a conversation with Elphaba.

"Ama Clutch, she's gone. I find myself having a hard time believing such a dreadful fact." Elphaba put a green finger to her lips, gesturing for the girl to keep her voice low.

"We don't need Nanny or Nessa waking up. They're both very light sleepers." She informed her. "Well, it's true. Ama Clutch is dead, but it certainly wasn't because of natural causes."

"Well, of course not, Elphie! I put some sort of magic spell on her!" Glinda exclaimed in a whisper, clutching onto her embroidered pillow.

"I wasn't talking about that, you idiot. I know that Madame Morrible had something to do with it." The Witch saw Glinda respond, but the wind was picking up and it was drowning out any sound that the blonde was making.

By now, the Witch was quite used to the spinning motions, but she wouldn't deny that the constant movements made her want to throw up. She opened her eyes after a few moments, finding herself in the familiar corn exchange. The woman turned to the bedroll and, by the moonlight, she could pick out the figures of a beautiful Fiyero and a young, impassioned Fae. The two were moving together underneath the thin sheet and the Witch felt her heart yearn for the man. Everything felt so simple back then, even though Fiyero was cheating on his wife and she was in one of the most important seasons of her life. Even though there was a high chance that she could have been killed any day, she loved knowing that Fiyero would be there to hold her and to claim her as his (even though she would never admit it).

The Witch could feel the tornado beginning again and she reached out for her lover, not wanting to leave the scene. "Fiyero!" She screamed as the storm ripped her off her feet and whirled her away. She opened her eyes to see, not the Afterlife, but the solid stone walls of the basement in Kiamo Ko. This couldn't be happening; she was dead, for Oz's sake! How much more pain could she possibly endure?

"This is only the beginning," A deep voice echoed throughout the room and the Witch stiffened in alert. What in the name of Lurline was going on?

* * *

**So how did you guys like it? Tell me and review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! Thank you for all the reviews last chapter. It really means a lot. So here's another chapter. Enjoy and please review! c:**

* * *

The Witch couldn't fathom how she had gotten here, or how it was possible for her to even be alive. The water, it was a fail-proof plan! She had felt the agonizing pain that came from the water's contact with her skin! But now, she could feel the dampness of the stone underneath her and she quickly contemplated a way out. Taking a panoramic glance around the diminutive room, the Witch ambled up the steps, not exactly in a rush. It took her dark eyes a moment to adjust to the dazzling light and she shielded herself with her heavy cloak. There wasn't much to see, really. The castle was the same as it had always been. The Witch painstakingly closed the oaken door behind her, careful not to make a ton of noise. If they were even here, it would not do her any good to be captured by the Gale Force. She peered into each room as she went and everything seemed to be untouched. The woman climbed the stairs to her private chambers. As she entered her study, the sigh shocked her and she nearly fell back down the stairs.

Sitting at her desk chair was none other than Fiyero Tigelaar, blue diamonds and all. He was just as handsome as she remembered: his glistening gray eyes and those muscular arms that had held her for so many nights. The Witch felt a burning pain and she wiped at her crooked nose to learn that a tear had made its way down her face.

"What were you doing outside?" Fiyero asked as he lunged up to take her into his arms. She stiffened at the unfamiliar sensation of being touched and he gazed at her searchingly. "Are you okay? You seem… Upset. Is the solitary Elphaba Thropp finally opening up?" He teased.

The Witch, although nonetheless confused, couldn't lose an opportunity to insert a sarcastic remark. "I believe that I've opened up enough times for you, Tigelaar." She retorted suggestively. A sly smile crossed his face and he closed the space between them, kissing her hungrily. The green woman took a step back, distancing herself from him. What in Oz's name was going on? Fiyero was dead. That was one thing she was sure of. She had come back to the Corn Exchange to see him lying cold on the floor, his blood splattered all over the walls. She had thrown herself onto him, holding onto some tiny ounce of hope. His body lacked a pulse and she had sat back on her haunches, not quite sure what to do. Elphaba had left the place and staggered to the mauntery, trying to find shelter before the guards came for her too. It was then when she had fallen into a deathly sleep.

"Elphaba, what's the matter?" Fiyero's tribal accent ripped her from her reverie.

"Nothing, my sweet. If you don't mind, I need to straighten some things out." The Witch informed him, brushing his hand off of her bony shoulder. Fiyero stared at her, rubbing his forearms in confusion. Why was she acting so distant? It was starting to frighten him.

Elphaba opened the door and instead of finding her castle, she was out on the busy streets of the military districts of the Emerald City. No, this was impossible! She opened the door and stormed back inside, immediately entering the makeshift bathroom of the corn exchange. Looking in the reflective surface of the broken mirror, she almost fainted. The Witch was about ten years younger, around the age of twenty-three. She looked down to see that she was clothed in a simple black frock and she was barefoot.

"Fae, are you alright?" Fiyero came to the doorframe of the bathroom, his shirt slung over his shoulder.

"Yes, I'm fine, Fiyero. Just leave it alone, okay?" She snapped at him, not wanting to be interrupted while she was thinking. Fiyero, hurt, turned away and made to sit on her bedroll, buttoning up his dress shirt.

Elphaba turned, still confused about this whole matter, and sat next to him lightly. "I'm sorry for that. Do you have to leave now?" She questioned, kissing along his jawline and nipping at the dark skin.

"Yes I do, Fae. It's Thursday, remember? I have to see the opera to meet one of my business associates." He reluctantly pulled away. "Besides, we made love just a few minutes ago. Please tell me that you don't forget my attentions that easily."

Elphaba laughed awkwardly and kissed him gently, pushing him away. "Be safe."

Fiyero kissed her back and left, his brow wrinkling in confusion. Just an hour ago, Elphaba had been her usual, sarcastic self. What happened in the course of sixty minutes that caused her to act like he was a total stranger? Placing his hat onto his head, he sighed. He didn't understand women.

Elphaba ran her hands through her silken hair as she paced around the small room. What was happening? One second, she was in her castle. The next, she was sitting in the corn exchange from fifteen years ago.

"Maybe someone's giving you a second chance." Her lips parted as the thought came to her. That was it! Someone was giving her another chance to redeem herself. She was getting another chance to save Fiyero, return him to his wife and children, and maybe live the rest of her life as a guilt-free woman. The Witch jumped up, an uncharacteristic grin on her face. Thank God, well, thank whoever! She grabbed her cloak off the trunk and buttoned it up as she entered the hub-bub of the Emerald City.

There were festive lights everywhere, and Elphaba presumed that it was nearly Lurlinemas. She swept by a fruit stand, sneakily stealing an apple and shoving it into the folds of her cloak. All of this was too good. How did she ever qualify for a chance like this? She had never done anything good in her life. Elphaba had driven all of her friends and family away, stolen Fiyero from his loving wife, and had ultimately killed him.

She had no idea why it was happening or who was behind it, but she was entirely grateful.


End file.
